Everything That Made Them
by winchesterdelight
Summary: Coda to 10x21 (Dark Dynasty). After they find her in the bathtub.


The smell of blood overwhelmed him.

Sam was no stranger to blood. In his mind, it was like a fifth element. It was one of the foundational things that composed the very world around him. He had spilled it, bled it, been covered in it, drank it by the gallon. But never had it smelled so foul as it had when they found her in the bathtub, drenched in a sheet of red.

His legs were already beginning to buckle and bile was already rising in his throat as his brother pulled into the doorway and stiffened at the sight. Dean had lived the same life he had, seen the same things he had seen-to a point, anyway-but his whole face went pale as he looked at her. Helplessly flailed in the tub, limbs contorted and broken...stomach sliced open. Everything that made her Charlie was splayed out across the mint green ceramic, dripping onto the tile floor.

Unable to wait for a reaction from his brother, Sam stumbled away, shakily sprinting across the hotel room toward the trash can by the door. He didn't make it in time, though. Collapsing next to the bed, he vomited onto the carpet, expelling everything that made him Sam.

The usual thoughts burst into his head, but they swelled like a smattering of rain on a tin roof, noisy and barely decipherable. _Your fault-how could you-wouldn't be dead-idiot-scum-liar-devil-_

They weren't new thoughts by any means, but the way they hit him-like knives to his brain-was different. It wasn't the normal repeating background noise of his mind this time. This time, it stung. Bit like a viper, poison ripping through his veins.

Still in the bathroom doorway, Dean stood like a statue, motionless and silent. Scarlet webs of blood spread through his vision, flooding his mind with rage. Instinctively, his hand moved to the burning Mark on his right arm, which was pulsing, screaming at him to do something. Burst out of that motel room, find that Styne bastard and turn him into a bloody mush. How much would he feel if he was dead, if their whole bloodline was dead at his feet…

The sound of Sam's retching from the other room brought him back to his senses. There was too much to do before he could even think about going after them. Lately he had been the one who everyone had to take care of, who everyone had to treat like a porcelin doll, ready to crack at the slightest hint of pressure. But listening to his little brother puke his brains out in the next room, he realized he didn't have the luxury of being taken care of this time around. For the first time in a long time, he had to be the strong one.

Swallowing his anger, he walked over to the bathtub. The soles of his boots were already sticking to the floor with blood. Standing above her, it was all so real to him. The sight, the smell...it was all too much for Dean to deny. A girl he considered one of the family was nothing but a body. Biting back the tears that were prickling at the edges of his eyes, he leaned down and scooped her up in his arms.

Sam heard Dean pass through the room, but he didn't look up at him, staying slumped on the floor, leaning against the bed to keep himself from falling over into his own sick. Dean's steps were too heavy to be his normal stride. He was carrying something. Something heavy. Something dead. He didn't dare glance up to see if he was right. The shadow of his brother walked right past him with no hesitation, right into the pouring rain outside.

Dean was gone for what seemed like ages. Sam knew he should get off his sorry ass and go help him. With everything the Mark must have been feeling-everything the Mark must have been making him feel-Dean shouldn't have been dealing with Charlie alone. But it felt like there were no muscles in Sam's legs any more. Every bit of him felt stretched out and useless. His head fell against the bed in defeat. _Besides_ , he thought, _haven't I done enough damage as it is?_ His eyes began to sting and as much as he clenched his jaw and bit his tongue, he couldn't help the sob escaping from his mouth.

Minutes passed like hours, and Dean still hadn't returned. Tears streaming down his face, Sam had a terrible thought: what if Styne had never left? What if he was waiting for them outside, waiting to do to them what he did to Charlie? Sam shuddered at the thought. Charlie was gone. That couldn't be helped any more. But if anything happened to Dean…

A shot of energy ran through Sam, and he sprung to his feet in a panic, ready to sprint to the parking lot, gun in hand. On his feet, he moved toward the door, but froze.

Dean was standing in the doorway, untouched.

Relief started to wash over Sam, but looking at Dean's face, a wave of nausea hit him again. His brother's eyes were empty, soulless. All the light that had been in them was gone, extinguished. Everything that made him Dean had vanished. It wasn't an uncommon look for him given recent events, but this was different.

This time, it was Sam who had give him that look.

"Dean," Sam said. It was nothing more than a breathless sob.

But there was no flicker behind those dead green eyes.

"Get in the car," said Dean, before he turned around and left the room.

And with nothing else he could do, Sam helplessly followed.


End file.
